


Death and Taxes

by TheLionInMyBed



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Blow Jobs, Fealty Kink, I wish they negotiated kink half as thoroughly as their economic policies, Logistics Fetish, M/M, Negotiations, Paperwork, Sarcasm, Taxes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 15:54:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7367968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLionInMyBed/pseuds/TheLionInMyBed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>High King Fingon has little patience for financial administration and getting him to take an interest is going to require all of Maedhros' persistence and political acumen. Or he could suck him off for tax concessions.  </p><p>(Yes, the death in the title is a little one)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Death and Taxes

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Смерть и налоги](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9078748) by [rio_abajo_rio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rio_abajo_rio/pseuds/rio_abajo_rio)



Kingship did not agree with Fingon. Princeliness - being charming, dashing and inspirational - came naturally but sovereignty seemed to involve rather more paperwork and sitting still in impractical clothing than he was comfortable with.

“There’s scarcely less administration involved in being crown prince,” said Maedhros who, to be fair, ought to know. “You just never did any of it.”

“Effective delegation is a key principles of command,” said Fingon grandly. It was a principle he was currently engaged in demonstrating, peeling an apple with his feet upon his desk while Maedhros went through his ledgers. “But I’m sure you didn’t come all this way to discuss my fiscal policies.” He winked. When that failed to garner a response he sucked the juice from his fingers suggestively.

“Actually,” said Maedhros. “I did. In light of last year’s poor grain yields I thought it would be wise to-”

Fingon pouted. “You could at least take the time to greet me properly.”

“I thought I did,” Maedhros said, scrawling illegible notes onto the parchment beside him.

“As my friend, yes. But I am more than that to you.” Maedhros raised his eyebrows but did not look up until Fingon put the apple aside and took his hand, stilling the scratching of his quill. “If you came here not for Fingon but the High King then you must pay him homage as your liege lord.”

“You’ve smudged my- No matter. Has it ever been said that the House of Fëanor failed to offer the House of Fingolfin its due deference?” Maedhros rose from his chair and stalked about the desk to take a knee at Fingon’s feet. “Hail, King of Hithlum and High King of all Noldor. Mighty in battle and generous in spirit is valiant Fingon, son of wise Fingolfin.”

“A fair start,” said Fingon. He doubted there was anyone else that would find Maedhros’ scarred face and sardonic expression so fiercely appealing but that simply meant he would not need to share.

“Justly renowned above all princes of the Noldor. Vanquisher of dread Glaurung, champion of Dor-lómin, rescuer of fools from their own incompetence.”

Fingon dropped his hand to rest upon Maedhros’ head. A lordly gesture which, more importantly, let him tangle his fingers in the coarse red silk of his hair. Maedhros did not outwardly react but the wry, easy cadence of his words faltered just a little.

“I, Maedhros son of Fëanor, prostrate myself before you. In supplication I call upon your wisdom, o noble lord, and would ask a boon of you; please take your tax legislation more seriously.”

“I get enough of that from my other lords,” Fingon said, tugging vaguely at his hair. “It never seems to stop. I don’t know how Father did it.”

Maedhros blinked at him, slow and feline, and pressed against his hand. “I think it helped that he genuinely enjoyed bureaucracy. I think you might also, given the correct incentive. I am rather more persuasive than your other lords.”

“Then by all means,” Fingon said. “Persuade me.” It hardly needed to be said when Maedhros had already parted Fingon’s robes and was tugging at the lacings to his breeches. Maedhros on his knees, half ironic, half sincere in his devotion, was a heady sight and he was already stiffening as Maedhros drew out his cock.

“Think how well provisioned your troops will be,” Maedhros said, left hand coiled about the shaft while his prosthetic rested upon Fingon’s thigh. “Think of their bright swords and keen lances. Think of the glory they will win you. The forces of the Enemy will be _shattered_ by your might. We will bury Angband and topple the peaks of Thangorodrim, bring Morgoth to his knees. It will all be yours, my lord.”

“And what of you?” Fingon arched up into Maedhros’ grip but the steel hand pressed him back into his seat.

“Once we have won back the silmarils, I will be yours also,” Maedhros said and, bowing his head, found a better use for his mouth than flattery. He had his family’s single minded dedication to perfecting anything they set themselves to and Fingon thought at least some of that terrifying focus had been applied to learning how best to pleasure his king.

“ _Yes_ ,” Fingon said. If Maedhros had thought his talk of armies or the heat of his mouth and slick movement of his tongue would keep Fingon’s thoughts on taxes, he was not half as quick as Fingon gave him credit for.

It should not have been possible to suck cock sarcastically but Maedhros somehow endeavoured to imply, from the set of his shoulders and the smirking look in his eyes when he glanced up, that that was what he was doing. With the hand still caught up in his hair, Fingon pressed down, encouraging him to take it deeper. Maedhros went, obedient, and it was that deference more than the smooth workings of his throat that made Fingon moan aloud.

The advantage of having him like this was that it rendered him incapable of answering back. “You are a most faithful vassal,” Fingon said. “Dutiful in your service. Unfaltering in your watch. Even handed-” Maedhros attempted to pull away to make a retort but Fingon held him in place. “And lovely as an unsheathed sword.”

Maedhros made a choked sound that might have been pleasure or derision and did get free to say, “If we’re comparing _anyone_ to an unsheathed sword-”

“Attend to your duties,” Fingon said with all the sternness he could muster which was not much.

“As my lord commands.”

There was silence after that but for the rustle of clothing, Fingon’s rapid breathing and the wet, filthy sounds of diplomacy at work.

Fingon had learnt some patience over the years and so he let Maedhros set the pace, reveling in the slow, measured movement of lips and tongue and hand. He would have rushed to find his release but there was much to be said for this closeness, Maedhros’ poorly concealed delight in Fingon’s every sound of pleasure, the impossible peak his climax was building to. He was panting openly now and he let his hand slip from Maedhros’ hair down to his left shoulder, lest he pull hard enough to hurt him. “I’m close,” he gasped.

Maedhros drew back to take a breath and paused there, looking up at Fingon with dark, hooded eyes. “Hold. We still need to discuss taxation in the Marches.”

“ _Now?_ ” Fingon spluttered.

Maedhros stroked his hip soothingly, the metal of his hand deliciously cool on Fingon’s heated skin. “We agreed twelve sacks of grain per hectare two centuries ago but that was under the assumption that it made up a tenth of the harvest. Yields have fallen since, thanks, no doubt, to Morgoth’s corruption of the land and-”

“We can’t discuss economic policy while you’ve got my cock in your mouth.”

“No indeed.” Maedhros leant in, teasingly close, so that his breath ghosted over Fingon’s erection. His hand was still wrapped about the shaft and he moved it in slow, gentle strokes, just enough to keep Fingon on the brink. “We had better settle the matter quickly then so that I might resume.”

Fingon groaned. “I’m your king. I’m not going to let you fuck me into giving you tax concessions.”

“Shall we say five sacks per hectare?” Maedhros said sweetly. He lent forwards and ran his tongue over the head of Fingon’s cock, sitting back with a laugh when Fingon tried to press for more contact.

“You don’t dictate terms to me.”

“If we can’t negotiate then what am I here for? Should I depart for Himring?” He half made to rise but Fingon caught him by the collar and kept him upon his knees.

“Finish what you started! Your king commands it.”

“And so I will,” said Maedhros, unperturbed by Fingon’s desperate grip. “Once this matter is agreed.”

“Coyness does not become you,” Fingon lied. There was very little in his opinion that did not become Maedhros, even when he was being utterly unreasonable.

Maedhros looked pointedly from Fingon’s flushed face down to his unattended erection and back up. “A pity. _You_ look very well like this.”

“You’re not- this isn’t. What kind of negotiation is this?”

“Give me what I want and I’ll reciprocate. Is that unreasonable?”

“ _Fine!_ ” Fingon snapped.

“Five?”

“ _Yes!_ ”

“Well then,” said Maedhros and closed his mouth over Fingon’s cock again. The argument had not cooled Fingon’s ardor, quite the contrary. This time he did not let Maedhros dictate the pace but held him still as he thrust into his mouth. He went deep enough that Maedhros choked but did not try to pull back, even when Fingon relaxed his grip enough that he might have. Maedhros liked to be taken more than he cared to admit and if he moaned as Fingon spent into his mouth, Fingon knew better than to mention it.

Afterwards, hair tangled and face flushed, Maedhros turned his head to spit, noted the dense carpet of warrants and inventories, and reconsidered. He swallowed, coughed, and wiped his mouth. “It will be seven and a half,” he said.

“I agreed to-” Fingon shuddered and began the arduous process of gathering up his clothing and his dignity. “You said five.”

“If you had truly agreed to five then you’d be a sorry king indeed, willing to beggar your kingdom solely at the urging of a skillful tongue,” said Maedhros, still on his knees and shuffling the scattered papers into a pile. “Since you are not, you must have driven a harder bargain.” He glanced up, briefly, and grinned. “Just don’t tell Caranthir I didn’t take the opportunity to ruthlessly exploit you.”

“So you say.” Fingon pointedly did not stoop to help him. “In my defence you were _exceptionally_ diplomatic.”

“Is it surprising? My father was renowned as a cunning lin-”

“Finish that sentence and I’ll have you banished.”

“And then who would help you with all this paperwork? Come, we still need to discuss the tax you’re levying on our herds.”

They did both.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr [here](http://thelioninmybed.tumblr.com), come say hi!


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